"What?"
The dining hall in the presidential suite went quiet at the sudden drop in the tone of Six's voice. Team RWBY-V stiffened with Yang ending up on the receiving of the his ire. She took a moment to compose herself since the man looked like he was going to rip her head off her shoulders.
"I was just saying," she started slowly. "We might know who it was that attacked you in Vault Twenty-One."
Ruby twiddled her thumbs. "I mean, not really but—"
Weiss shook her head. "No, we're sure. There could be no one else. Semblances are unique and while they are shared among much of the population of Remnant with occasional variations, there is only one person in Vale who could do what Jaune and Pyrrha described. So far, at least."
Blake sighed. "Six, listen: in our first year at Beacon, we...ended up going up against one of the most notorious criminals in Vale."
The Courier began bending and breaking the utensils in his grip. Not that he seemed to notice because he was glaring so many superheated daggers at the girls that, if he had a heat-vision type of Semblance, he could have melted the whole room.
"Roman Torchwick," the reaper started. "He's this guy... Um, tall. Not as tall as you but tall. He usually wears a white suit and a bowler hat—"
"Bowler hat?" Six echoed, the knotted metal spoon snapping into pieces in his grip.
"Y-yeah. Bowler hat. Cane, too."
"His signature weapon," Blake added. "It's a lot like our Huntsman weapons in that it was designed to utilize Dust and has a ranged configuration."
"We found that out the hard way," Yang said. She was about to keep piling on more details when she saw the twitch in his eye. He was boring holes into them with his manic gaze, cracked green eyes literally twitching. "... Uh, Six? You alright?"
"Bowler hat, cane," he hissed. "Did he have orange hair too?"
To this, all four girls were taken aback. The others around the table inched away with the adults inching closer.
Ruby hesitantly nodded. "Yeah. Bright orange like Nora but they're not related. How...how'd you know?"
The Courier exhaled. And inhaled. Then exhaled. Then inhaled. His breathing grew ragged and he cupped his hands together almost immediately after they started to shake. He shook his head, almost as if he was going to explode.
Weiss hesitantly reached her hand out. "Six? Major? Are you—"
"You fucking people," he snarled. "You fucking Remnant freaks..."
Raul moved. "Boss—"
Six smashed his fists onto the table hard enough to severely crack the wood. "If this is some kind of joke, y'all better knock it off 'cause you're treading a mighty fine line."
"Six, this isn't a joke or anything like that," Jaune answered cautiously. "We know what we saw and we're very worried because of how you acted back there."
"You suddenly shut down," Pyrrha continued slowly. "You became unresponsive. We tried to get your attention. We tried to help you—"
The Courier violently swiped the nearby dishes off the side, sending them shattering into pieces on the floor. "You don't know who she was! You don't know who she turned into!"
Yang raised her hands. "No, no! No, we don't! But we know who the person who impersonated whoever it was you saw."
"Blondie, I've been having a rough day. This is your last chance to stop fucking around or I swear to God above, I will break your fucking neck where you stand."
"Hey—"
Ruby held Blake back with Raul quietly raising his arm to keep Lieutenant Schnee and Miss Goodwitch from interfering, their collars notwithstanding.
The blonde brawler gulped as she hovered closer, her hands still raised. "I want to be wrong, Six. I really do. But I have to tell you straight that it can't be anyone else. That person is Neopolitan. Her height, the different colored eyes, the way she moved when you fought, and the fact that she never said a single word throughout the whole thing... It's her."
The Courier glowered at her. Then at the everyone else. He slowly rose to his chair and tapped the handle of one of his holstered revolvers. "So be it. I'm going to find her...and then I'm going to kill her."
Wide-eyed, the kids exchanged looks.
The ghoul sighed, shaking his head. "Boss, not every solution is a bullet."
"Raul, that little magician desecrated a memory—a precious memory—that's kept me from going off the deep end more times than I could count," Six barked with an almost rabid tone. "That's a crime I can't ever forgive."
Raul did not look all too happy as Ruby noticed how close his right hand was hovering towards his own magnum revolver. "Boss..."
"Fine, fine." The Courier breathed deep. "I'm calm... I'm calm. Blondie, what's this magician's name again?"
Yang bit her lip. "Neopolitan."
Three seconds.
Ten seconds.
Thirty seconds.
"Neo-poli-tan," the Courier repeated. "Neopolitan... Am I saying it right? Neopolitan?"
The four girls nodded. And with a huff, he stormed out.
O'Hanrahan sat straight with his hands resting freely on his lap, still caged in the same room alongside his captor. Regardless, he quietly thanked the Lord for this blessing. Maybe this was a sign for him to actually be a chaplain like Ma said. Or this could be a hidden message from the Almighty that it was time for him to retire from the military. That or he was just coping.
Because right now, all he had been doing was watching Miss Neo mope. He had a gut feeling that she really wanted to kill him but after mentioning that he was affiliated with the legendary Courier Six, she appeared to be struggling with either letting him go or keeping him on a leash as a means of getting to the big man.
"Uh, Miss Neo?"
Miss Neo dryly stared up at him, annoyed that her moping had been interrupted again.
"Can I go, uh, relieve myself?"
She frowned.
"I know, I know. I went four times already but...my stomach... I can feel something down there and... I really need to go. Please? I'll come back anyway. Not like I got anywhere else to go, you know?"
He really had nowhere else to go. For sure, he was probably in Freeside because he could smell the odor of the slums seeping through the vents. Besides, he doubted he would be in anyone's good graces if he even escaped from here. The locals were never really friendly to the NCR no matter how much their good folk tried to mend ties. And with how underdressed he was, regardless of his physical constitution, he was ripe pickings for criminals. So for the moment, his only liberty was the bathroom on the other side of this basement.
Miss Neo shrugged, pocketed her knife, and opened the door for him.
"Thank you, miss. Um, apologies if you start smelling something though."
As usual, O'Hanrahan walked down to the end of the corridor to the bathroom, rested on his little porcelain throne for about a quarter of an hour, and walked back. Ignoring the stairs to his right that potentially led to freedom (or more likely an early meeting with Jesus courtesy of a knife to through his neck). He strode back into his gilded cage only to yelp in surprise at what he walked in on.
Consequently, Miss Neo tossed the knife in her hand towards him, the blade shaving off the hairs off his temple before embedding into the wooden boards leaning against the mortar behind him. By that point, O'Hanrahan thought that the wisest move was to not say anything. Except, his mouth moved faster than his brain.
"Miss Neo, why are you wearing Miss Schnee's underwear?"
Pink and brown went wide with indignation and the corporal shut his eyes, muttered a quick prayer, and braced for his coup de gras.
Pain rocketed into his crotch, however. And he slumped onto the floor with his hands cupping his aching jewels. All the while Miss Neo towered over him like a demoness engulfed in shadows, her eyes burning like the fires of Hell. At least, that was what he imagined her furious glare was given that he was presented with a pristine view of white silk lace covering the most sacred of places of a woman.
"Miss Neo," he ground out, too agonized to not stare, "please put some pants on..."
She quickly donned on her trousers...while wearing Miss Schnee's underwear.
O'Hanrahan settled for lying on his belly on the dirty floor. Lord Jesus Almighty, give him strength! Because right now, Miss Neo turned her back on him, shed her blouse, and began undoing the straps of her brassiere.
He forced himself to look away but the reflection in the cracked glass mirror on the side tormented him with another angle of Miss Neo's near unadulterated back. She retrieved a pale blue brassiere embroidered with snowflakes and tried it on. Then she whirled on her heels to appraise herself in the same cracked mirror.
O'Hanrahan tried to avert his gaze but it was too late. She caught his glance.
"Miss Neo, please—"
With a shake of her head, she rolled him over to onto his back with her heel, and forced him to gaze up at her...partially clad display. Then she gestured at her chest now tightly concealed by Miss Schnee's brassiere. And she...wanted to know what he thought? She seemed expectant with a raised brow and a puckered lip.
"Miss Neo...?"
She waved her hands in front of her...chest...her brows raised as she clearly waited for a response. He wanted to say that it was too small for her but he didn't want to loose his head.
"You look...nice?"
Miss Neo scrunched her face in thought, then turned back to the mirror to appraise herself again. She shrugged, unclipped those constricting cupholders, pulled out another one of similar size, tried it on, and nudged his side with her heel as she once again presented herself to him.
O'Hanrahan groaned against the floor. Dear sweet Lord Jesus above, Heaven help him! "Uh...you look nice, too?"
She rolled her eyes. Then smirked. And did something...frighteningly stunning.
She transformed.
Like a real magic trick.
Skin and fabric flaked and folded until Miss Neo had become someone else entirely. And, to his horror, he ended up gawking at a perfect mirror image of an underdressed Miss Weiss Schnee complete with pale skin, flowing white hair, and a tight-fitting brassiere settling snugly around a pair of mini-muffin cakes. This 'fake' Weiss Schnee then started posing in front of him in ways that would make Ma screech.
O'Hanrahan gulped. "Oh Jesus, help me..."
No one really bothered the Misfits as they lounged on a bench outside the Lucky Thirty-Eight looking like they had been through a mugging, a brawl, and a riot in quick succession. It didn't help that they had never once changed from their dirty combat fatigues with Mags wearing a pair of cracked aviators to avoid getting a headache from all the neon lights. Poindexter was pressing an ice pack to his latest bruise on his forehead while Razz snored against the armrest.
Oh, and O'Hanrahan was still missing which was why they were gathered just outside the Lucky Thirty-Eight waiting for the Vegas Wonder Kids or Courier Six to show up and help them find their missing squad-mate. Or at least, they hoped they would. Miss Snowflake Starlet assured them that much after she strangled them with a giant fucking ice hand for stealing her clothes (right after they were about to be tortured by some very pissed off Chairmen).
"Sarge?" Poindexter chirped. "By my estimates, I don't think we'd be getting any help."
Mags scowled. "Put a sock in it, Tim. We're told we're getting help and we will get help."
"We've been sitting out here like washed-up charity solicitors for three hours now. And prior to that, we were waiting in the Tops for two before we were so generously evicted from the premises. Also, it's late. Just saying, my calculations don't show a favorable outcome for any of us."
"Spit your numbers at me again and I calculate a ninety-nine-point-nine percent chance of my boot going up your ass—"
There was a loud noise as the outer ring of doors to the Lucky Thirty-Eight grated open. Immediately, Mags stood up, dragging Poindexter to stand next to her, while she kicked her heel against Razz's keister hard enough to get him to wake up and stagger to his feet. Shortly thereafter, a Securitron rolled out with Miss Starlet in tow, her long white hair drawing the attention of passing tourists who started to crowd around them.
"Good news, troopers," she said. "Some of us will take time off tomorrow to help you look for your missing friend."
Mags lit up. "That's great! Thank you so much!"
"What's the bad news?" Razz asked.
Miss Starlet folded her arms. "Six isn't happy. In fact, he's in a really terrible mood at the moment."
Poindexter cleared his throat. "I'm not at all surprised as that is to be expected. I hope he understands how genuinely remorseful and apologetic we are about that."
To which, the white-haired girl dropped her voice low. "Oh, he does. In fact, he's planning on skinning all of you as a unit."
Razz whistled. "Shit. Daddy's pissed."
"Shut up, Razz," Mags chastised. "Again, Miss Schnee, we are so sorry for what we did and we'll gladly take on whatever punishment—"
"Gladly?" Poindexter hissed. "Sarge, when have we ever gleefully taken on punitive work!?"
"Please don't make a scene," hissed Miss Starlet. "Listen. Team JNPR-S will be joining you tomorrow as they're the only ones who have the liberty to take a day off. You will start early so you can have more time and cover more ground."
"Tomorrow?" Razz grunted. "Why not tonight?"
Mags elbowed her squad-mate hard in the side to send him toppling back down onto his rear. "We can wait. It's not like Jonah got kidnapped by some murderous psycho or something, you know."
"I'd rather not tempt fate. Well, good luck tomorrow. Team JNPR-S will meet you around seven tomorrow. Have a good night."
Poindexter hobbled in front of her. "Wait, wait, wait! You're not going to, ah, be so generous as to let us stay the night at—"
She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Again, Six is...not in a happy place right now. He'll rip you apart if he sees you so best you lodge somewhere else. And I doubt, even in a proper state of mind, he would be willing to accommodate you in the tower. I'm sorry."
"Figures. Hey, maybe help cover a night's stay, princess?" called the ex-Fiend.
To which, a vexed Miss Starlet promptly dug into the pockets of her coat and slapped a wad of NCR bills onto his hand. "You're welcome. Now go. Before he comes down here."
And so the Misfits lodged the night at Vault Twenty-One. At least, this time they stuck to water and juice and clocked out immediately.
"Neopolitan, Neopolitan," Raul hummed, inspecting the Vegas Wonder Kids' newest trinkets on display on the shelves in the recreational parlor of the presidential suite. "Out there looking for her Roman."
"I dread to think what would happen if those two would reunite," mused Glynda.
"She seemed desperate," added Winter. "For someone like her to be desperate speaks volumes of how much she must have relied on Torchwick. To be gallivanting out there in search of him, uprooting lives in her wake, willing to turn the world on its head in her efforts..."
"She can still be stopped," Ruby said with as much optimism as she could muster. "Or, at least, arrested?"
"Assuming Six doesn't get to her first," Yang remarked, idly spinning the large old globe near the bookshelves. "Though he probably might turn the whole world upside down just looking for her."
"By the sound of it, that woman turned into someone Boss knew personally," the ghoul grunted. "Say, what exactly did she look like? The illusion?"
Jaune scratched the back of his head. "Well, um, she looked like a sort of cowboy version of herself. Only older. She had a hat like Six's but less ragged. She wore a leather jacket, too, and had a bandolier on. Uh, she even wore two belts lined with bullets with a couple empty holsters on her hips. Pyr, you got anything else?"
Pyrrha nodded. "There was a star pinned to one of her belts."
"A form of identification amongst enforcers," quipped Glynda.
"Similar to the traditionalist lawmen from Vacuo," added Winter.
"The Desert Rangers were easily identifiable by their stars," replied Raul. "That or their hats."
Miss Goodwitch paced in front of him. "I am curious as to how she came across such an identity. Could it be she came across records or perhaps...?"
"Most likely the case. We'll only know if we actually get to her." The ghoul pointed a finger on the globe, ending its spin. "What do you think, hija dragón?"
The little blonde dragon bitterly blew a strand of hair off the side of her lip. "She's a psycho midget. Hate to admit it but she did...get one on me. Inside of a train too...during a, heh, training mission."
"Ugh, anyway," drawled Ruby. "Weiss found her knocked out with Neopolitan gone. Then they tried to hold off this White Fang guy with a chainsaw."
"White Fang," the ghoul echoed back. "They were the radicals that people in your home-world called terrorists, right?"
"Just don't bring up that 'terrorist' tag in front of Blake," Yang advised.
"One hell of a school to have training missions like that."
Glynda let out a loud sigh. "The mission itself was strictly meant for upperclassmen but my superior at the time made an exception for team RWBY. However, no one could have expected to find what they uncovered during their assignment. Even with an experienced colleague chaperoning them, it resulted in a crisis that put the entirety of Vale in jeopardy."
"Hardly team RWBY's vault, if I recall correctly from the reports," interjected Winter.
"I wasn't implying such."
"Only adding a necessary footnote."
Raul cleared his throat. "I think I remember that story. The little diablos told me about not too long ago. Was that the same one where it was a train loaded with explosives and blasted a hole in the middle of some city?"
Ruby nodded. "Yep. It was the Breach."
He whistled. "Damn. Is this the same guy who stole, ah, a power-armored gunship or a robot suit or something like that?"
"Atlesian prototype paladin," corrected Lieutenant Schnee. "Battle mech intended to augment the Atlas military. We were still mobilizing to depart for Vale when we were informed by Beacon that the whole affair with the stolen prototype was resolved rather quickly."
"Albeit with collateral," Glynda added morosely with Ruby and Yang turning sheepishly away.
The ghoul snorted. "And this was when Miss Neopolitan saved Mister Torchwick in the nick of time, eh? After all the explosions and flying colors and stuff?"
Jaune scratched the back of his head. "You mean with or without Nora's extra details?"
"Hija valquiria is one hell of a storyteller though." Raul then plucked the deatchlaw hand off the platter atop one of the display shelves. "You know, I'm getting a feeling that here in the Wasteland, Señora Neopolitana has been operating alone. A Bonnie without her Clyde and a Clyde somewhere out there probably looking for his Bonnie. Or probably dead. I don't know, it's a possibility."
The confused looks he got almost made him groan.
"Okay, Vikki and Vance situation. Like I said, Vikki without her Vance."
He got a round of 'ohs' from the kids.
"Alright, so we got a desperate Vikki ready to rampage through the Wasteland just so she could find her Vance."
"Pretty much," Yang replied. "That's why we had to tell Six so he could do something about it or at least keep any eye out."
"Oh, I'm sure Boss has got that going around in that messed-up brain of his." He flipped the deathclaw hand over and poked his finger through the gap where the connecting bone used to be. "He go this whole world turned upside down by what she did. Means that they both must be pulling the same skeleton out of their own closets."
"How long do we have to wait for him to come to his senses then?" asked Lieutenant Schnee. "Otherwise, we should be wary of his actions."
"Won't have to wait too long, teniente," Raul replied. "You kids go to bed now. It's almost midnight and I'm pretty your shifts start earlier than some of you wake up."
With that, he headed to the elevator with the deathclaw hand, hearing a few others shuffling behind him.
Thump.
The Courier snapped his head up and looked around the penthouse suite. He quickly swept the pictures and letters off the desk he had been moping over into the drawer. He was on the upper level of the suite, in the room that, two hundred years ago, accommodated a still human Robert Edwin House. What was that?
Thump. Thump.
His eyes bounced from point to point, his right hand dropping to cup the handle of his closest holstered pistol. Okay, what the hell is that?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He started moving across the suite with his forty-four in his right hand and the left ready to pull on the three-fifty-six magnum on his hip. That last thump sounded like it came from below, near the dining area. This better be some kind a building quirk or one of the kids still up and messing around up here. Otherwise, if the whole place has been compromised—
Thump. Thump.
He rounded the corner and locked on towards the source: an unassuming glass pane with the cloudy nighttime expanse of New Vegas stretching behind it. What the... Is that...?
There was a shadow sitting right outside the window, squatting on the edge and bouncing rocks in its hand. Six triggered V.A.T.S. to help identify the figure as he took immediate aim even though the glass was thick enough to withstand his special rounds. He mouthed the words: 'Show your hands!'
The shadow tilted its head at him before inching closer to the light and revealing a ragged crimson cloak rippling in the high-altitude winds...along with layers of blood-stained bandages and a red-eyed smirk.
Six furrowed his brow. 'Birdman?' What the hell are you doing out there!? How the hell did you even—no, wait, yeah, you could get up out there; you're a fucking Huntsman with weird Semblance powers and shit. But still!
Birdman stood up, unfazed by his position or the high altitude winds whipping against him, and shrugged. His jaw moved. 'Can I come in?'
The Courier's jaw dropped in disbelief as he lowered his revolver. 'What?'
Branwen pointed to himself, lipping the words. 'Can I...' Then at him. '...come in?'
What the fuck, birdbrain! Major Vickers incredulously pointed to the elevator, lipping back. 'Use the front door!'
The Huntsman squinted his eyes and shoved his ear. 'What?'
'Use the front door!'
Another shrug. 'What?'
"Use the front door, birdbrain!" Jesus Christ, I do not want to be having a game of charades right now!
Birdman's mouth went wide with an extravagant 'Oh! Got it!' then he nodded with extra flair—swinging his arms in a wide arc around him while his jaw dropped in a big 'wow' as he leaned back—and almost fell off before catching himself like he was doing some stupid drunken dance.
Six threw his arm up. Fucking show-off. "Quit the grandstanding and use the front door!"
Instead, Branwen approached the pane and began scratching. Then he bent down and ran his fingers along the edges, face scrunching in thought while he began striding from one corner to the other.
Is this son of a bitch looking for a latch? Vickers planted his knuckles on his hips. "There are no latches here, dumbass."
Of course, this stupid Huntsman didn't hear him because he just kept tracing the perimeters of the window pane. Then he moved to the next one and did the same. Then the next. Looking for a latch. That was not there. Because windows in New Vegas hotels and casinos (most especially in the Lucky Thirty-Eight) were sealed in compliance to Old World occupational safety standards.
Six shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're really Hyper's uncle."
After several minutes of watching his Remnant associate try and fail to get into the cocktail lounge, the Courier sidled back up the stairs just as the elevator dinged open and someone strode in and then suddenly stop.
"¿Qué verga?"
"Qrow?"
"What is that idiot doing?"
"Trying to open the fucking window," the major snorted. "You can't open windows in New Vegas hotels and casinos."
Kansas and Snowstorm were now gesticulating at the damn Birdman until the damn birdbrain finally stopped, rubbed his temples, threw his hands up, and had the audacity to look like they were the ones fucking up and not him. Either way, Six promptly returned the angry bird that was flipped their way before pointing to the elevator. The others did the same (not flipping the bird but pointing to the elevator).
Then—in a burst of actual magic—the guy transformed into an actual bird, flapped his big feathery black wings, and flew down below.
"He's not going through the front door, is he," deadpanned Kansas.
"He's going to look for an open window downstairs," added Snowstorm.
"Does he even know that he can't open windows in New Vegas hotels and casinos?" asked Raul.
"No," the Courier exhaled. "No, he doesn't. Now what the hell are you three doing up here?"
"So Boss, I got an idea for this here little trinket," Mister Tejada started. "I'm thinking of reworking it into one of those mantis fists you got from Zion. Perfect for a certain little dragon, don't you think?"
Major Vickers was not amused. "Not a good time, Raul."
"Not a good time to be by yourself, I'd say," Glynda remarked.
"Kansas—"
"With all due respect, major, it's Glynda." Playing docile had run its course and she considered it time to be more assertive even with the glaring handicap on her neck. "And her name is Winter."
He grit his teeth. "Duly fucking noted. Now, Glynda and Winter and Raul, too. I'm busy tonight. Go to sleep. It's late."
Winter approached him. "With all due respect, sir, no."
The blonde folded her arms. "And with all due respect, sir, you're not busy at all."
"You fucking..." He seethed, wringing his wrists in front of the two women then glaring at the ghoul. "Raul, I'm going to give you the next minute to say your peace. I've got a lot going on in my head right now so there better be a damn good reason why you let these two broads—"
"Talk to us, Boss." Mister Tejada grimly placed the deathclaw hand on one of the end tables. "I admit that neither of us are good at talking. But with this many people roped into shit that's getting deeper the more we wriggle around in it? I think some more secrets need to be aired out."
"Goddamnit, we've already had this discussion before."
"And I don't want to keep having it again. So talk to us. Porfa, amigo..."
The Courier softened. "... I already told you about Samson. And Delilah. What the hell else do you want from me?"
"The Desert Rangers. Señora Neopolitana knew who they were and other than you or whoever still survived Baja all those years ago, no one of us have a clue who they really were."
Major Vickers struggled to keep from hollering. His face contorted from ugly scowl to ugly scowl while he grabbed at his scalp, marching in circles, muttering muted curses. For a moment, Glynda expected either a tantrum or a violent altercation. In the end, he dropped onto a chair, tiredly massaging his temples.
"... Neopolitan," he croaked, forlornly shaking his head. "That woman...that magician...that little demon... She brought her back. She brought her back..."
"Who, Boss?"
"She brought her back, Raul. She brought..." He dug into the pocket of his coat and planted a battered tin star onto the desk.
The ghoul did, eyes wide, nodding slowly. "Oh."
Glynda was tempted to ask who. Winter, however, hazarded a guess: "Sir... Was she a colleague?"
Courier Six shook his head, his voice cracking. "... No. She was my wife. Mother to my daughter. They both looked so much alike... And that magician...she had her face. She had both their faces. She had Tia's cheeks and Nia's eyes! She brought them back...just to take them away from me again."
"Boss—"
To their astonishment, the most powerful man in New Vegas started crying.
Tap, tap, tap.
Ruby sat up on her bed and looked over to Yang.
Tap, tap, tap.
Yang looked over to Weiss who looked over to Blake who looked over to Velvet who shrugged.
Tap, tap, tap.
It was past midnight, they had just settled in to sleep, some of them were really tired, but at the moment none of them felt any drowsier than before. Quietly (and with great vexation), they eased out of their beds to trace the source of the sound. It could either be something serious or something else given how it unnatural it was.
Tap, tap, tap, plunk, tap.
It didn't seem like Team JNPR-S was making that noise. They were all clonked out by the sound of it with Nora's snoring reverberating through the closed door of their room.
Tap, tap, thump, thump. Tap, tap, thump.
It was coming from the recreational parlor. The door creaked loudly open and the tapping was interrupted by an odd noise akin to fabric twisting over feathers ruffling. Flicking on the lights, Ruby nearly squealed at the sight of a large black bird perching itself on the edge of one of the window panes. Its crimson eyes met her silvers.
Yang squinted. "The fuck?"
Weiss rubbed her eyes. "Is that...a bird?"
Said bird wobbled a bit before it began tapping with its beak on the glass then aggressively scratching at it with its talons.
"Hey, stop that!" Blake hissed, hurrying over. "Shoo!"
The rest of the girls ran over, hooting and gesticulating to scare the thing away because its scratching was leaving marks which Six may not like to see. The crow, however, kept pounding its beak harder and faster.
Velvet ultimately smacked her palms against their side of the glass. "Oy, quit it!"
It did stop. For a few seconds. Then it paced away to the edge of the ledge and suddenly charged, banging its head against the window.
Yang responded by punching back at the glass and causing the bird to stagger back...and fall off the ledge.
"Birdie, no!" crowed Ruby.
Velvet eyed her. "Really?"
"I mean...it's probably not thinking right?"
"It's braindead," snorted Yang. "Or might be suffering from some kind of weird radiation sickness that screws up their heads or something."
Oddly, the creature rapidly flew back up, its strangely wide wings flapping wildly like an angry shadow angel cast against the New-Vegas-lit evening sky, red eyes glaring at them. Or it looked like it was glaring at them. The bird's expression was very accusatory in some way.
"This is not normal behavior for a bird," Blake added.
"Agreed," Weiss said. "I may not be an expert in avians but I don't think it should be carrying itself at this altitude."
Velvet shook her head. "I doubt it's anything but a normal bird. It's size...is too big for its type."
"You girls aren't saying it's...a Grimm?" Ruby raised.
They shook their heads. For one, there was none of the distinctive ivory plates or pulsating runic veins. Also, given that they were in the Wasteland, it was probably mutated to abnormality by the radiation. Or whatever messed-up thing was out there that messed things up. Six sure as hell overshared some of his experiences with folks that 'played God and shat out cazadors for shits and giggles.'
Suddenly, the bird zoomed towards the glass with the intent to break through with enough force...
Bump.
The girls stared. The bird landed on the ledge, staggered back up, shook off its dizziness, then flittered back into the sky. The lights of New Vegas were bright enough that she could pick out the creature circling three times before trying again, slamming even harder against the window with the same result.
"Birdie?"
"This bird is dumb."
"Or braindead."
"I'm going to back to bed."
"Same here."
The crow did it again. And again. And then, after the fifth failure, it slumped on the ledge dizzy and disoriented. It looked up at the remaining girls with what seemed to be betrayal. Ruby and Yang looked to Blake who rolled her eyes; just because she was a faunus did not mean she understood what went on in the minds of animals.
The bird stood up on its shaky legs, shook its head, and made one final attempt.
This time, they just stood back and watched as the stupid bird once again slammed against the window, slid down the glass...and promptly drop off the ledge down into the street below.
"Oh birdie, no," Ruby drawled unamused, turning off the lights on her way out.
Qrow chastised himself as he struggled to get back up on his feet after landing hard on the twentieth floor balcony. Perhaps he should just break in. The windows were way too durable and all the doors were locked and he was not going to risk going in through the main entrance. He reached for his hip flask only to find it empty. With a groan, he searched the rest of his pockets until he pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey. How drink had he much already? There was the beer and the vodka and the...scotch and the wine...?
Shit. Glynda was just waiting to rip into him for having too much to drink and Winter might...give him the cold shoulder over it or something. Papa Sixer was off the bottle but he looked like he was going back into it.
Qrow gulped down until he felt drunk enough to drag his ass to lean against the wall. Damn, he still hurt in some areas but at least the numbness was helping.
"Gods damn it..."
After taking a moment to compose himself (mostly), he began typing on his Pip-Boy:
'outsde 20f balcny meet me asap
ncr clening house
you and others trgeated
open fuking window nxt tim -qrow'
Omake
Earlier that evening...
Blake was on Syrup duty tonight and she was starting to hate the little shit.
"Aw, he really likes you," cooed Nora.
"Syrup, no," barked Ren to no avail.
Velvet sighed. "So much for the bones from dinner. Blake, are you sure you'll be fine?"
The cat faunus grumbled back. She couldn't even be bothered to say anything since the rather man-sized baby deathclaw was basically sat on top of her with one jagged claw wrapped around her head, planting half her face onto the dusty casino floor carpet, with the other holding down her foot. It was an awkward position but thankfully not painful. Besides, what Syrup was doing wasn't really draining her Aura reserves but the mutant was damn heavy and wouldn't let up. Still didn't make this any better though.
"I should take a picture," Nora chirped.
"No!" Blake barked, wide-eyed. "Do not."
Ren reached over and grabbed JNPR's team mascot by the budding horns. "Syrup, let go."
"I got him here," Velvet announced from behind. "Whoa! Cheeky little bugger, you."
The cat faunus glanced over her shoulder to see her fellow faunus struggling to keep her grip on the little shit's tail and then turned back up to Ren who was now wrestling to get the baby deathclaw off of her. All the while, Nora was gushing over the 'wholesomeness' of this scene.
"Ooh! I think there's a camera here somewhere. Still got some of Michaelangelo's spare film. Yang is gonna love this."
Blake's eyes went wide. "Nora, no!"
Too late.
"Hurry and get this thing off me!"
"Trying!" Ren snorted.
"Syrup is bloody heavy!" Velvet grunted, pulling with all her might. "Have to hand it to you, boy. You can sniff out Blake's Semblance that easy."
No need to remind her. A game of tag insisted by Nora to help Syrup exercise after a day in a cage turned into Syrup chasing Blake around the casino floor, Syrup pinning Blake with its full weight, Syrup licking Blake all over (ugh, the slobber!), and now Syrup 'playfully' nibbling on Blake's leg with its jagged teeth like it was a oversized half-eaten chicken bone. And so far, this baby deathclaw was determined not to let go of its new chew toy anytime soon...
Wait. Chew toy?
Oh gods, no... Why did this not dawn on her sooner!?
Syrup is just like Zwei!
Blake mewled into the carpet as Ren flew above her and Velvet yelped behind her. Then Syrup readjusted to nibble on her arm now. But not after happily licking her cheek and once again drenching her upper half in its drool.
"He really, really likes you," Nora remarked, returning with an old camera and taking the first of many damning pictures.
Weiss wasn't supposed to be on Syrup duty tonight but she couldn't pass up the opportunity to spend more time with their adorable mascot. It was late and she was already getting ready for bed when Victor relayed a request from Nora down at the casino floor. With the rest of her friends debriefing Raul, Winter, and Miss Goodwitch about Neopolitan, she was the only one free to check up on what was happening.
In essence, she should have expected something like this to happen. It was like Blake and Zwei all over again except Blake was at least being more tolerable to her charge.
"Blake, hold still," Nora ordered. "I need to get this shot."
"Fuck off," hissed the cat faunus.
"Language, Blake," Weiss barked, maintaining the glyph that held her teammate upright, seated with her sweaty palms neatly planted on her lap next to the grinning baby deathclaw. "Now, smile."
"I hate you."
"I think that's enough, Weiss," Ren said, holding tight onto Syrup's leash. "And Nora, we only have a finite amount of film."
"We can burn through these rolls tonight," Nora countered between rapid snaps. "Besides, Michaelangelo has a butt-load more that he wants to share."
"Sorry, Blake," apologized Velvet who had so far been directing Nora on her budding photography skills, "but you actually do look nice together with Syrup. At least, when he's behaved."
"Weiss, I'm not letting you borrow my underwear," Blake grit through her teeth.
"Duly noted," dismissed the heiress. Not like she was going to anyway; she was sure team JNPR-S would be able to retrieve her pilfered garments before the day's end tomorrow. And besides, her teammate's rather lacy undergarments were not her size but no one needed to know that.
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: December 30, 2023
LAST EDITED: February 9, 2024
INITIALLY UPLOADED: February 9, 2024
NOTE: It takes people from Remnant to really get Six to crack like that, it seems. But so far, those people from Remnant are helping him mend those cracks. Or so it may seem.
January had me busy and optimistic for my prospects only for February to pull the rug from under me so I could get a much-needed reality check. Apologies if the wait was too long. I try to shrink the intervals between chapters as best I can.